


The Last Forever

by dark_tides



Series: Starcrossed [3]
Category: GTA V, Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dysfunctional Family, Ending C: The Third Way, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Heartache, Heartbreak, Loss, Love, Love at First Sight, Lust, Smut, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 13:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30089466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_tides/pseuds/dark_tides
Summary: After the events at Paleto Bay, Ellie is under house arrest at her father's estate in Vice City, and our boys are try to work out how to bring her home.
Relationships: Trevor Philips/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Starcrossed [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155293
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	The Last Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Oh heyyyyy.
> 
> So, I was fully intending on ending this story with the last chapter of Paved with Good Intentions, but something about this fandom just keeps dragging me back in lol.
> 
> I don't think that this story is going to be very long/ very many chapters - but as always, let me know what you think! Kudos & comments literally make my life!
> 
> Also, for this one it would probably make the most sense if you'd already read my other fic Paved with Good Intentions, but I think you'll be able to get the gist of the story without reading it :)

I woke up.

My throat was like sandpaper and my heart felt like a hollow, aching pit that hung heavy over my bones. Soft light filtered through gossamer curtains and fell onto my face. I blinked once, my eyes sore and swollen as I glanced around the room. Long gone were the ratty posters of old punk bands and the piles of gossip magazines of my youth and in their place were crisp linens and beige walls.

There was no lock on the door. There didn’t need to be. I had barely moved since I awoke, sluggish and forgetful from the drugs that still circulated my body. For a few blissful moments, the years melted away and I was fifteen again, safe in my childhood home. A car backfired outside, shattering the illusion of safety. Suddenly all I could hear was gunfire and all I could see were Trevor’s wild, amber eyes, creasing softly at the edges as he mouthed the words, “I love you”.

My cries brought guards, and the guards brought Kyle. She found me crumpled on the floor, inhumane wails spilling from my throat as I clawed bloody lines into the skin over my heart, trying to excise the pain that burned below the surface. Kyle dragged me back onto the bed and held me there, rocking me gently until I finally fell asleep, too exhausted to cry anymore. She came to visit me every day after. I didn’t talk to her, but I knew she was there. Some days she tried to speak to me but most days she didn’t say anything at all. Just sat there quietly, her guilt louder than her silence.

I spent my waking moments with a grief that had become a physical thing; an engorged balloon that swelled up out of my heart, stretching painfully beneath my skin. Any moment of respite that I had was immediately engulfed by some reminder or connection, and I would remember what I’d lost. I thought I’d known what hurt was when I’d mourned Kyle, and what heartbreak was when I’d left Trevor. But it was nothing compared to this. Every breath and heartbeat dragged me that little bit further away from him and I couldn’t fucking stand it.

I began to dread being awake and asleep in equal measure. Being awake meant having to coexist with relentless despair but being asleep meant dreaming of him. I’d close my eyes and I’d be back in Paleto Bay, watching him hunched over the kitchen island while scowling at his phone, sunlight catching on tufts of his hair and one hand absently rubbing at the little scratches of ink encircling his neck. He’d look up and catch me watching him and his eyes would light up like they always did. He’d make some lewd suggestion or comment, his eyes darting between mine, a little grin playing over his lips but, before I could reach out and touch him, I’d wake up and remember that Trevor was dead.

In the depths of my grief-stricken madness, I would talk to him. Sometimes out loud but mostly in my head. I would ask him if this was how he felt when Michael died and he would laugh, that deep rumbling sound that would reverberate through my bones when he held me close, smelling of sweat and sand. He’d ask me how he was supposed to fuckin’ know when he was just a figment of my imagination. Even in my head he was an asshole.

I breathed out, bathing in the soft morning light, the sun warming my skin. I was crying, but then I was always fucking crying. The tears that seeped down my cheeks were as regular now as breathing. The breeze from the open window was lifting little whisps of auburn hair up and off of my forehead. I briefly wondered who’d opened it and then I remembered that no one was going to grumble softly into my ear to fucking shut it, and my heart broke all over again. I rolled over onto my side, curling my body up to face the wall, blocking out the light and sinking back into the darkness.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I woke up again.

The sunlight had faded to an orange glow and I could feel a presence in the room. That unbroken stillness shifting as they moved. I didn’t bother opening my eyes. If Kyle had something to say she’d say it sooner or later.

“Ms. Sullivan?” The sound was low and unsure, and it was a voice I didn’t recognise. Curiosity pulled me away from the wall and I rolled over, opening my eyes. A young man stood in my room looking nervous and out of place. Apart from Kyle and the maids, nobody had stepped foot in here since I’d arrived at the estate, and even in the state I was in I could tell that he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“I have a message for you." He said, reaching behind him to quietly shut the door. "From Michael DeSanta.”

I closed my eyes again, waiting for the punchline. I thought I was over these types of dreams, but apparently not. I lay there and waited for something to happen. When nothing did, I frowned and opened my eyes again. The man was still there but looking decidedly more nervous.

“What is it?” I asked. My voice was croaky from disuse and the words scraped out of my throat like sandpaper.

“He wants to meet with you tomorrow night at The Malibu Club.” He said, wringing his hands, his eyes glancing backward toward the door. I sat up in bed, the covers pooling around my hips as I stared at him.

“That’s Tommy Vercetti’s club,” I said, and the man nodded wide-eyed. Either this was the weirdest fucking dream I’d ever had or… I hissed as I pinched the skin of my forearm between my nails. The pain was sharp and clarifying. He was still there, and so was I, and that was wholly unexpected. 

“Who are you?” I asked and he shook his head, clearly terrified now. I wasn’t surprised. Unless things had changed drastically in the time I’d been away, Tommy Vercetti was one of my father’s longest standing rivals. The idea that some no-name would come into his house to try and coax his daughter to a Vercetti-run property was unthinkable.

“I’m nobody,” he replied, visibly shaking. “I just owe a favour.” 

“Some fucking favour.” I breathed and he nodded. He looked back desperately toward his escape route and I swallowed. “You can go.”

He didn’t need any further prompting. He was gone in seconds and I was left alone in my room, staring at the door. For the first time in however many days that all-encompassing grief retreated slightly as I tried to understand what the fuck had just happened and what the hell I was going to do about it.


End file.
